Jade Fern Grove he's got looks that books take pages to tell

The words spoken had not been done so properly, the fact that the accent used was off having been pointed out. A remark had not been tossed back, though, previously, it was likely that one would have. Nodding instead, he’d taken note of the comment and told himself that he’d need to practice later on. Presently, he kept his focus on the male and not his language. Another word was spoken, one that he did not understand, but an explanation never followed. It was in silence that he’d wondered what the word meant, choosing to ask later on rather than right then. They had another task to complete, after all, and so he didn’t want to take up any more time being taught when, he knew, that could be done at another time. As long as he remembered—and it was unlikely that he’d forget—then he could seek Sriracha out and request a private lesson.

Being told that he could leave as he pleased and not worry about no one being there when he returned was an interesting thing. Of course, with Blackfeather, he’d been able to wander around whenever without risk of the pack vanishing before his return, but it seemed different this time. To actually hear someone say that they wouldn’t pack up and leave was somewhat new and made him feel weird. It was another thing he didn’t comment on, however, not yet able to understand fully how it made him feel; the feeling had been so brief and unusual that he’d simply left it alone, disinterested in tampering with something that he didn’t know anything about. The belief that he’d be left alone anyways lingered still, too, leaving him without any other options than to just wait and see. To find out through experience if the group would leave him, rather than just blindly accepting the word of a near stranger.

Alexander did little more than observe after the others fall, his question having been the last thing he’d said for a moment or two. His wondering had been responded to, and he’d nodded in turn, sharing the hope. Never before had he been made to dig an actual den, having found the already established ones to work best for him; it had saved time, as well as kept him clean. Yet, as the male’s idea was shared—the double-meaning had flown right over his head, and the seemingly embarrassed demeanor that followed confused him—he was left considering the possibility that he might have to help to create such a space. “I’ve never slept with a group before, unless my family counts,” was his comment to make, trying to imagine such a den. It seemed like it’d be cramped, but, then again, what did he know? “I want to try it,” the boy decided. “If I don’t like sleeping with everyone, then I could just stay there.” With that, he’d nodded towards the den before them. It might be a tight fit, by his standards, but it’d be better than getting covered in snow once winter arrived.